Delusions of a Grander Sort
by jadenanne7
Summary: Erotic fantasies plague Raymond Reddington from the moment Elizabeth Keen descended the stairs of the Post Office and refuse to let go. Now if he could just turn fantasy into reality...
1. Chapter 1

**a/n: These will be more like little drabbles from each episode. Each one will be of an erotic nature, so if that's not your thing, back away now.**

 **I wish I owned Red and his dirty little mind, but I don't.**

He waited patiently in his box at the bottom of the stairs, amused by his shackles and chains, amused that the FBI thought this could hold him, amused that in spite of his bonds…he was in charge. He waited patiently for his little savior, anxious to feel the rays of her light upon his face, eager to be filled with the memory of compassionate little fingers on his cheek, begging him to wake up…for visions of that sweet little girl that gave him so much…

The visions that assaulted his brain when the most stunning woman he'd ever laid eyes on glided down the stairs were jarring, to say the least.

He wanted her.

He wanted her writhing naked on his lap, making him moan in frustration as he tried desperately to free himself from his restraints and just touch her anywhere…everywhere…

He wanted her on the great seal of the FBI, bringing her to completion over and over again as they defiled the very institution he loathed.

He wanted her in every position imaginable, grinding and grabbing and sweating while he proved once and for all that she belonged to him…that she always had belonged to him.

The child was gone and he wanted the woman and that changed things.

Oh well. He was used to game changers.

"Agent Keen…what a pleasure."


	2. Chapter 2

**a/n: See where this is going?**

 **I REALLY want to own Red. Somebody look into that for me.**

He took her.

Right in the middle of the hotel room…right over the dining table…in plain view of the woman that lay dying on the floor, her gasps coinciding with Lizzie's decadent moans.

The sweet little black dress –a little too modest for his taste- bunched around Lizzie's waist and brushed sensationally against the sensitive skin of his hips as he thrust wildly, manically trying to win the race between her completion and Floriana's death.

God only knew where her panties were.

His thrusts grew even more erratic, spurred on by the sweet mewling noises coming from his sweet Lizzie.

That proved to be his undoing.

In a disgraceful show of responsibility, Red refused to finish where he wanted to, buried in her beckoning heat, but stained her precious black dress instead.

Let her explain THAT to Tommy Boy.

"Reddington!"

Red snapped out of his fantasy of Lizzie's erotic sighs and was greeted with the reality of the choking and wheezing of the bitch who was getting exactly what she deserved. Popping a grape in his mouth, Red tried his best to feign interest.

"Definitely dying."


	3. Chapter 3

**a/n: This is what happens when I get too eager. I post stuff without a disclaimer. But I'm fixing it.**

 **Don't sue me.**

 **Please?!**

 **Thanks for the awesome reviews! I love my gutter babies!**

 **And boy did I screw that up. Anyone who saw that... I'm having a morning, alright?**

Her breasts pressed against his chest as she reached across him to shut the car door.

Didn't she know what a dangerous game she was playing?

Didn't she know that all he wanted to do in that moment was pull her onto his lap and lavish those breasts with the attention they were begging for?

He briefly imagined what they looked like, those twin peaks protruding deliciously from her chest. They were more than a handful, he knew that. One day he would be able to measure accurately, but until that day, more than a handful would have to suffice.

She leaned back against the seat of the car, breasts heaving in frustration and indignation that her questions were being so thoroughly avoided. He could almost imagine the thin sheen of sweat that would make her body glow during the haze of angry sex. Her frustration would only grow as they continued to work together, and he could think of a wonderful way to work out that frustration.

The tip of her tongue darted out to wet her lips in preparation for another round of endless, pointless questions that he had no intention of answering.

If she was trying to distract him into fucking up and giving her an answer…she was doing well.

His own tongue traced his teeth as he imagined one of her rosy pink nipples between his lips. Ahh… his oral fixation was showing. He would suck and soothe and lathe until she came apart in his lap…preferably around him, but he would take what he could get…

Wait…she was getting out of the car.

Damn it.

He leaned his head against the seat and sighed.

"You okay?" Luli asked from the front seat.

"I'm fine. More than fine. Just daydreaming."

If only these daydreams wouldn't follow him into the night…


	4. Chapter 4

**a/n: Look at me, remembering to put the disclaimer on the first try!**

 **I own nothing. Like… I don't even think I own my own car. Something about Nissan financing… idk.**

 **Getting a little sentimental in this chapter. Well.. maybe not sentimental. We've drifted past just sex and moved on to something a little more substantial.**

 **Thanks for the reviews and favorites/follows! Good to know that I'm not the only one who enjoys a good M every once in a while.**

It was over.

The horrid ordeal with The Stewmaker was over, and everybody was back where they belonged.

Or where they thought they belonged.

HE should be the man Lizzie went home to, not Tom. He should be the one to take care of her… to dry her tears and make her feel safe again.

He could imagine what she was doing at that very moment. Probably shaking in the shower while Tom hovered outside the door, referring to his handbook of what the perfect husband would do in this situation. Only there is no handbook for what to do when your wife is almost dissolved into sludge.

Red knew what HE would do…what he wanted to do.

He would draw sweet Lizzie a bath. A bath to wash away the filth of what had happened to her. A bath to cleanse her of the touch of that monster…of the evil that had gripped her in its cold clutches.

He would strip her…slowly, gently, careful of the bruises and scrapes that littered her perfect body, careful not to let his anger flare at the sight.

He would not allow her to step into the tub, preferring to put her in himself. She shouldn't be made to lift a finger, much less a leg. He would allow her to relax into the water, to acclimate herself to its warmth. He would turn away and gather a cloth and soap, giving her a little time to herself.

She had earned it.

He would start with her hair. The fleeting memory of its softness under his palm as he dared to stroke it was not enough. He needed more. He imagined his hands in its length, releasing it from its band and allowing it to tumble over her shoulders. He would wash it, slowly massaging in the shampoo, delighting in the little moans and sighs he would draw from her lips as she forgot herself and the gruesome fate that might have awaited her.

He would continue to her shoulders, avoiding the raw bundle of nerves that The Stewmaker had set aflame. He would gently pull her forward, running the cloth gently down her back and up again, moving to her arms and belly, avoiding her breasts at first but growing bolder when she arched her back.

She would enjoy her recovery.

He would make sure of it.

His hands would travel the length of her body, worshipping... cleansing… teasing. His fingers would stroke her nipples expertly, working her until she grasped his hand and pulled it exactly where she wanted it.

He would never touch her there otherwise.

Not tonight.

Her fingers would guide him and then abandon him, trusting him to understand. He would go slowly, building her orgasm with soft circles around her clit…with a finger slipped inside her wet heat, stroking and exploring until he decides she is ready.

She would come in shuddering gasps and cries, holding her weak arms out to him, clinging to his neck as he pulled her from the bath and onto his lap. He would rock and soothe and kiss until she was alright.

He would give anything for her to be alright.

Instead, Red sipped his scotch and watched the flames dance in the fireplace and hoped that Tom would at least offer some reassuring words, no matter how false.

It never ceased to amaze him how fucking unfair life could be.


	5. Chapter 5

**a/n: So while I may have remembered to put a disclaimer this time (I don't own the characters, please don't sue, etc…), a friend pointed out that she couldn't find this story because I didn't filter the characters.**

 **I'm not really this dumb.**

 **Pinky promise.**

 **Anyway, all of my crazy issues aside, I am so happy that y'all are enjoying this story! And thanks for the love!**

 **Enjoy!**

She came to him.

He knew she would. It was his plan…his design. No matter how hard Tom Keen tried to fuck it up, this was still Red's plan.

He knew what she needed as soon as she walked through his door. She needed a drink and she needed space. The drink was easy enough. Space was hard. Space was almost impossible when all he wanted to do was touch her.

He would try his best. It was all he could do.

He held the glass to her, expecting a rebuff, a quiet refusal to accept comfort from the man who singlehandedly demolished her life, but Lizzie always did find some way to surprise him. Their fingers brushed as she took the drink from his hand, and he had to turn away…to hide the desire blaring in his eyes. The couch cushion shifted under her slight weight as she settled down next to him.

So close…

The silence threatened to crush him so he filled it with nonsense, rambling about manuscripts and hidden treasures and the sunlight that bathed them both spectacularly. As the light danced across his fingers his mind wandered, even as his mouth finally stilled.

She would be glorious in the sunlight, the rays dancing across glistening skin as she sank down onto his lap, writhing and bucking in full view of the open window.

It made him crazy, the quiet.

He could hear her breathing…hear the alcohol slide down her throat in small gulps…he could almost feel the burn in his own throat.

He could almost feel her heartbeat.

It was enough to make him hard.

He wanted her pulse on his tongue, racing higher and higher as he marked her as his own, marked her for the world to see.

He could taste her now.

She tasted like whiskey and sex.

Two of his favorite things.

He crossed his legs, discretely applying friction where he needed it the most, trying to calm the raging need that surged with the image in his head. He tried to think of other things, but Lizzie was inches away and there were no other things.

He could feel her hands on his shoulders as she slid up and down his cock, her lips meeting his in a furious kiss. He could feel her thighs tighten around his, begging him to thrust upwards.

As if he would be able to stop himself.

There was a soft thud as Lizzie's head hit the back of the couch, pulling him away from his fantasy. He dared for the first time to look at her beautiful face, and realized at once what a mistake it was. The last rays of sunlight played across her skin and he was lost, sucked right back into a world where she tightened around him in a vice-like grip, tearing a very real groan from his throat as he came hard, staining his pants and startling a sleeping Lizzie.

He froze.

She opened her eyes.

"It's dark."

Red swallowed hard.

"It's barely dusk."

"I have to go."

He knew.

He hated it anyway.


	6. Chapter 6

**a/n: So sorry it took so long to update! Crazy days at work and even crazier nights at home!**

 **Thanks so much for the reviews/follows/favorites! These shots have been so fun to write!**

 **Enjoy!**

How could they have fallen so hard so fast?

She had sought him out yet again, holding his hand as she cried for her ruined relationship. She was drowning and she trusted that he would save her.

It was wonderful.

It didn't last.

He had gone from the savior of her dreams to the monster of her nightmares in a matter of hours.

Tom had won.

Yet again.

The fact that Tom was in Lizzie's life as a direct result of Red's meddling was just salt in the fucking wound.

And now he was a monster.

He hated to admit it, but as much as it hurt, as much as it wounded him to be on the receiving end of her wrath…she was magnificent when she was angry.

Every stilted fantasy of a demure, submissive Lizzie took a backseat to his new vision.

Clothes were not shed. Clothes were ripped. Buttons flew, scattering across the floor and over the chair and into the fire. The buckle of his belt tore into his skin as Lizzie tried frantically to push his pants down his hips. He hissed, biting into her neck as her fingers pressed into the scratch.

"Mr. Reddington?"

Fuck.

"I don't want to talk about it, Grey."

"Are you hurt? You seem in pain. Should I…?"

"You should fucking get out of this room. I won't tell you again."

The door clicked softly and Red was alone with his thoughts, yet again.

He was beginning to think that this was all he'd ever have of his Lizzie… thoughts and dreams and the shameful feel of his own palm sliding down his cock.

His face burned with the realization that that was exactly what he was doing.

Already down the proverbial rabbit hole, he circled the weeping head of his cock with his thumb, allowing his vision to take a turn into something completely different.

She was on her knees now, naked from the waist up, her tongue moving in tandem with his thumb, slow… teasing.

It was his punishment.

This was how she slayed the monster.

He reached out to touch her and was quickly swatted away.

It was just as well. His hands gripped the arms of his chair so hard he swore he could hear wood splintering.

She grew impatient, stroking her tongue up and down his shaft until he couldn't breathe, quickly replacing her tongue with her hand and stroking him hard, almost painfully, until tears sprang to his eyes and he sobbed, so close but still unable to release.

Mercy.

He begged for mercy.

Ask and ye shall receive.

She took him. She took all of him, sucking and humming around him until he could no longer stand it.

He came.

Down her throat as she stroked his thighs soothingly.

Onto his hand as he tried to hold on to the fantasy as long as possible.

Opening his eyes to face the harsh reality, Red tossed back the drink he hadn't realized he was still holding.

He could deal with Lizzie's anger.

Silver linings and such.


	7. Chapter 7

**a/n: Just so you know I haven't forgotten y'all...**

She was adorable when she was angry.

Granted, he wasn't too thrilled that her anger was directed at _him_ , but it was still adorable.

He had moved past the hurt and the shame in record time. If he was going to continue on with his plans he was going to have to develop a thicker skin when it came to Elizabeth Keen.

It wasn't as easy as he made it seem.

He thought he could reason with her like an adult... The silent treatment he received proved otherwise.

So, he tried another approach. He followed her. He followed her down the hall and into the elevator, intent on conversation... intent on teasing and cajoling her into some sort of acceptance.

He truly underestimated her incredible stubborn streak.

She stood, steadfastly ignoring his teasing, eyes trained on the elevator doors, legs spread and feet planted firmly on the floor.

He could have used this small window of opportunity to explain himself... to explain Tom... but another -more appealing- opportunity presented itself.

He was offered a pleasant view of her shapely ass, and he took it.

What man wouldn't?

Red had never considered himself a truly dominant being in the bedroom. He was more than happy to let the woman take the reigns and spur him on in whatever kinky direction she preferred.

Kept him on his toes.

However, Lizzie stood with her legs spread and her back ramrod straight and oh the things he could do with that...

He caught her sideways glance and smirked.

What would she say if she knew what he was thinking? Would it disgust her to know that in his wicked mind she was no longer standing in front of him, waiting impatiently for the elevator doors to open, but bent obediently over, hands planted on the door while he pressed into her luscious bottom, his fingers unbuttoning and unzipping even as his hips thrust instinctively against her?

Could she ignore him then?

He longed to tell her.

It was almost painful, keeping these fantasies to himself.

What would she do if he whispered in her ear? Told her that in his mind, she wanted it as badly as he did? That she almost cried out in relief when he worked her pants and white cotton panties down her legs and dropped to his knees behind her, relentlessly plunging his tongue into her wet heat? That she scraped her nails down the door and moaned his name over and over again while he worked her clit between two fingers? That she screamed when he thrust inside her, hauling her up to his chest to slide his hand under her shirt to find her hardened nipples?

What would she do if she knew she wanted him?

He had to tell her.

"Lizzie..."

The elevator doors opened and his chance was gone.

He flew out after her, but in the end he kept his mouth shut and retreated to the safety of his car, to the shoulder of a friend.

He was teetering on the edge of something dangerous. He had to stop.

He couldn't stop.


	8. Chapter 8

**a/n: Here is my monthly update! Juuuuust kidding. I'm going to do better, I promise. You know the drill, I own nothing, and this is rated R.**

It was sad that out of the saddest days of Red's life, this didn't even crack the top five.

He had just suffocated his dear friend, and it didn't even crack the top five.

That was something to think about.

He hurried from the hospital, intent on getting to Lizzie as soon as humanly possible, but was soon sidetracked by the appearance of the biggest thorn in his side since Donald Ressler tracked him down in Brussels.

Thomas Keen.

Red watched with interest as Tom played the part of the devastated son-in-law, his voice cracking under the pressure of how to tell his wife that her beloved father was gone. Narrowing his eyes, Red followed Tom out of the hospital, stamping down the begrudging admiration at such...commitment. Tom sat at a table and proceeded to sulk, while Red weighed his options.

To engage or walk away.

Engage, of course.

A flash of fear played over the young man's face as Red took the seat next to his.

He knew who Red was.

Good.

Giving Tom a good sizing up, Red gave a mental snort.

What could Lizzie possibly see in a man like this?

The character of Tom Keen wasn't some fairytale hero, some dark knight sent to rescue the fair maiden from the monsters of her past. No...Tom Keen was the mild-mannered teacher who spent all day pushing his glasses up his nose and trying to keep disinterested children from eating paste.

The attraction was completely lost on Red.

He wondered briefly if that mild-mannered attitude extended to the bedroom. It would have to, for the cover to work.

It made Red's stomach turn to picture it...Lizzie flat on her back in the tiny apartment she shared with her husband, faking orgasm after orgasm as Tom made good use of the missionary position.

The image was now burned into his brain.

Tom was babbling about Lizzie now, pouring his heart out to the man he betrayed...to the man who hired him to look, not touch.

It took balls. Red had to admit...it took balls.

Red seriously considered taking his balls from him with a pocket knife, but it was a crowded street and most people didn't do well with dismemberment.

Oh well.

There was always later.

Tom's imminent death was never far from Red's mind.

It came in a close second to...other things.

Red smirked as he mulled through the playlist of dirty little fantasies in his head.

Maybe he should share with Tom.

Maybe Tom wouldn't honestly even give a fuck.

 _"I want to take your wife on the dining room table where you almost bled to death._

 _I want her on her hands and knees on the stairway leading to your bedroom, telling me that her husband would never fill her like I do...that he couldn't even try._

 _I want her on your bed, riding my cock until she forgets you ever touched her._

 _And I want you to watch it."_

The words threatened to spill from Red's lips...threatened to jeopardize what little plans he did have for Tom's pathetic mission.

He went with a warning instead, droning on about Lizzie's father, his true message reading loud and clear.

 _"Watch your back."_


	9. Chapter 9

**a/n: Here it is! Part one of Anslo Garrick! Happy belated birthday, Elena!**

He couldn't believe he was back in the fucking box.

Once upon a time he had sat patiently in his confines, knowing he would soon be released, and willing to suffer through whatever discomfort it took for him to get his way.

But he was only willing to suffer through it once.

And now he was back in the fucking box.

With Donald Fucking Ressler.

The temptation to leave the agent to his own devices was great. Donald Ressler was nothing but a pain in the ass, and his uselessness was truly unprecedented. Still…they were both probably about to die and Red needed to scrounge up good deeds while he had the chance.

Frowning at the pitiful sight of Ressler's leg, Red reached down deep and pulled out the scant amount of emergency medical knowledge he had retained while in service. He couldn't do very much to save the leg, but what he could do was excruciatingly painful.

Time to lodge Ressler's tie firmly between his teeth.

Red had enough distractions without all the excess noise.

His gruesome task done, Red ignored all attempts at conversation by Anslo and focused on the spreading puddle of blood on the floor. He would go ahead with a transfusion, but it was almost certainly pointless. He was 99.9% sure that Donald was going to die anyway. If he could go ahead and do it quietly, that would be real fucking nice.

Red sat in silence while Anslo put every part of his tiny brain to work on trying to get into the box. Explosives seemed to be the only option. Fitting, considering that blowing things up was always one of Anslo's favorite pastimes. In fact, it was one of the many reasons he ended up with a bullet in his head. Most people would learn from that experience, but Anslo took it as a challenge.

Looking down at Ressler to avoid Anslo's unfocused gaze, Red grimaced at the pallor of his skin. The transfusion was only slowing down the inevitable. Without the aid of a surgeon, Donald would die. Feeling the sting of compassion for the fallen man, Red attempted to take both their minds off of what was happening outside the box.

He didn't lie.

There was no need to.

He wanted it all. He wanted the music and the wine and the thrill of having experiences that most men would only dream of having. And some of the basics would be nice too…

"I want the warmth of a woman in a cool set of sheets..."

The words left his mouth and before he knew it his mind had wandered to the one place he had refused to let it wander to since the lights in the black site shorted out.

Lizzie.

It didn't feel right that he would die without having her to himself.

He wanted her with him, nestled between the sheets, waking him up from a long nap with peppered kisses and her body pressed against his.

He wanted to know how her skin smelled slick with sweat and lust and salty against his searching tongue.

He wanted her hand in his once more, gripping him instead of gripping the sheets in ecstasy.

He wanted to know how she felt around him, stealing his very essence and joining it with hers until they were one.

And most of all….

"I want to sleep like I slept when I was a boy. Give me that. Just…one time."

Yes… Red wanted it all, and Anslo Garrick be damned, he would have it.

If only he could make it out of the fucking box.


End file.
